


I Am So Proud of You

by Her_Dark_Materials



Category: Scott & Bailey
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:28:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Dark_Materials/pseuds/Her_Dark_Materials
Summary: What if her retirement party isn't the first time that Gill has said those words to Rachel? Some missing scenes from seasons 2-4. Rachel is falling hard for Gill. Gill is bisexual and trying hard to be professional about Rachel - but you know how it goes. :)Switching between Rachel's and Gill's perspective. No beta, forgive me.
Relationships: Rachel Bailey/Gill Murray
Comments: 30
Kudos: 46





	1. I.

**Author's Note:**

> This is only my second-ever attempt at at writing a piece of fanfic. I wrote this fic as a birthday present for a dear friend of mine who is major fan of Rachel Bailey and who needed a Rachel/Gill fic. I love you, Slap.

Chapter 1:

Rachel arrives at Gill’s house about forty minutes after Gill has run out of the office in the middle of her own briefing and left Andy in charge. 

Janet had tried to ring Gill after the briefing, but since Gill didn’t answer her phone, Rachel volunteered to deliver the updated case file on Susan Bishop to Gill in person. Janet still had a report to finish and would probably have to stay late – thanks to Andy who had moved up the deadline, probably just to annoy her. 

Driving over to Gill’s house Rachel has a vague idea that she might use this opportunity, away from the office, to talk to Gill about Andy’s problematic behavior towards Janet. She knows Gill won’t be pleased that Rachel is interfering, but she really needs to be aware how much Andy is finding opportunities to harass Janet, and all because she asked the knobhead to keep his distance.

If she is really honest with herself, she also wants to check on Gill. Gill has never left in the middle of a briefing before. And the expression on her face when she did. Annoyed. But also worried and ...something else...weary? hurt? So she’ll deliver the file and just make sure everything is okay. 

When Rachel pulls into Gill’s street she sees a taxi waiting on the curb. She parks on the opposite side of the road, and has just turned the motor off when she sees the door of Gill’s house open and Gill wrestle a stumbling, heavy-set, broad-shouldered man down the stairs whom Rachel immediately recognizes as Gill’s ex-husband, Dave. Obviously pissed. Gill is resolutely maneuvering him out the door, but she looks rather tiny next to him and Rachel can see the stairs ending in disaster for them both. 

She quickly gets out of the car, rushes over, and as she breaths a “hiya” at Gill’s surprised expression, she grabs Dave’s other arm and together they get him down the steps towards the taxi. Dave looks at her – muddled, and grunts: “who’ryou? let go’ame yatwat”.

But Rachel holds on steady, opening the taxi doors with her other hand, as Gill hisses: “Just shut up, Dave,” pushing him into the seat. Without looking at Rachel, she then walks up to the driver, gives him instructions and hands him some bills. 

Only when the cab has driven off, does Gill raise her glance briefly at Rachel’s face. Rachel can see that her eyes are red-rimmed and she looks more exhausted than when a difficult case drags on. Without further comment, Gill walks back towards the house. 

“Boss” – Rachel begins, briskly following her. “I’ve brought the Bishop file. We tried to ring ya – Janet did, but. . .” 

Gill turns around sharply forcing Rachel to stop in her tracks so she doesn’t run into her.  
“. . . you didn’t answer,” she finishes somewhat lamely. “It’s just in the car, I’ll get it.”  
She rushes back to her car, retrieving the file from the passenger seat. When she turns around Gill has disappeared back inside the house. Rachel jogs towards the steps, finding the door still open. 

“Boss?” As she cautiously steps into the living room, she sees Gill, standing with her back to her, opening a bottle of gin and pouring herself a generous glass. She turns around, looking at Rachel with a harassed look in her eyes. Rachel half-heartedly holds out the file to her, unsure what to do.  
“You want a glass?” There’s an edge in Gill’s voice. Rachel just nods, and puts the file down on the TV-table in front of the couch. 

“Well sit down, kid.” Gill gestures, then goes into the kitchen, coming back with a second glass which she fills up as generously as her own. “Wonderful Dave used up all the ice . . . and it’s not the occasion to bother with tonic” is all she says by way of explanation. Placing the glass in front of Rachel on the table, she then sinks down on the ottoman, takes a large sip of her own glass, and exhales, still glaring furiously at the room at large.  
Rachel opens her mouth, but Gill is already up again, 

“Actually, you wouldn’t happen to have a fag on you?” 

Rachel fishes the pack our of her purse and holds its out to Gill. “Sure, boss.”

Gill takes it and starts walking out of the room. “Can I join ya?” Rachel asks, unnerved by Gill’s behavior. She is convinced Gill would rather Rachel dissipate into thin air, but she just receives a sharp nod in answer. 

A minute later they sit on the back stairs to the garden, both with lighted cigarettes in their hands. Rachel sips from her glass, watching Gill inhale the smoke deeply. 

“What you just witnessed” Gill says looking at Rachel, making an expansive gesture which sloshes around the liquid in her glass, “was my ex-husband at his finest.”

“Why was he at your house?” Rachel asks. “Was that why you left the briefing?” 

“He got himself thrown out by his– girlfriend – he’s got his car-repossessed, he’s living with his mother currently, and now – well he thought he could leech off here – thinking as this was his home. Which it isn’t – hasn’t been for some time. In fact, there’s few places where he’d be less welcome and that’s saying something, but he was harassing Sammy and he was pissed off his arse - Sammy, had to leave to go to a concert for his girlfriend’s birthday, so he called because he was worried his dad would set the house on fire – and so. . . I ran out of my own briefing because . . . ” she gestures haphazardly again - towards the house. 

Gill delivers the whole speech in the exact, prim, precise tone of voice that she uses in briefings, but at the same time Rachel can see her hands tremble ever so slightly, can see her eyes grow just a bit shiny and unfocused as she trails off, tips her glass back, and takes another large swallow of gin.

Rachel exhales smoke. She feels angry on Gill’s behalf. But, somewhere in her gut, she also feels an unwelcome twinge of jealousy, that he can get to Gill, can crack that wall of professionalism - has played an important enough part in her life that he can clearly make her feel things –make her rush home, leave her this upset. She fidgets with the sleeve of her blouse, then bites down the jealousy and says, “They’re just entitled, aren’t they?” 

Gill looks at her quizzically. “Blokes, I mean.” Rachel says. “They’re just like. . . big twats who think that because we find them tolerable enough for an evening, or a while, they can just stick around indefinitely, or turn up on the doorstep just when they like.” 

Gill huffs out a laugh that makes something in Rachel’s stomach tingle. “Life experience speaking, eh kid?” She sighs, then continues “well, I suppose if you sign up for a till death do us part kind of arrangement then there are some things you’re really stuck with for life, even if you change your mind at some point.”

“But that’s just bullshit,” Rachel bursts out. “Sorry, I just mean . . . it’s not fair, is it? They don’t expect to ever be stuck with any fallout, why should we?” 

She takes another drag of her cigarette and then chucks it. “Also, you should take your own advice.” Gill looks at her sharply. 

“You should change the locks. That’s what you told me, after they let off Nick Savage. Looks like that might have helped in your own situation.”

Now Gill is truly laughing – her eyes crinkling and her face relaxing for the first time since Rachel arrived. “You’ve got a point there.” Gill chucks her own fag. “I need a top up . . . I’ll bring the bottle out.” She goes inside to retrieve it and Rachel watches her as she walks away. Despite her petite features, Gill never seems actually small. Not when you know she can cut you to size in the space of two sentences. 

And Rachel would know, seeing as she regularly finds herself on the other end of a bollocking from Gill. But then, there are those few times when she actually manages to do right, to impress her, and the fluttery feeling that runs through her on those rare occasions when Gill looks at her with a nod, saying those three words: “well done, kid.” 

“What are you smiling about?” Gill says, reappearing, bottle in hand, and fills up Rachel’s glass again, which is only half-empty.

“Oh, nothin’ I just” – Rachel shifts a bit uncomfortably, “. . . thinking I will pass my sergeant’s exams next time.”

“Of course you will” Gill says matter-of-factly, sitting down on the step, “you’ve got a brilliant mind – but you’ve got to stop letting yourself get distracted.” 

“I won’t this time, I promise” Rachel says, trying to reign in the daft lopsided grin that she can feel spreading across her face, the combination of Gill’s compliment and the gin warming her. Gill raises an eyebrow – whether at the surprising solemnity of Rachel promising to do better or the grin Rachel isn’t sure. She hates the way that every fiber of her body strains for Gill’s approval, but she still wants it.

“Do you mean it?” she asks. The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

“Well, if risking your career over a complete knob like Nick Savage isn’t an indication to you . . .” 

“No, I mean. . .” Rachel interrupts her. “Do you really think. . . that I’m . . .” she ducks her head, feeling shy and ridiculous , the way she so often feels when she has Gill’s complete focused attention. “You think I could do alright? As a sergeant?”

“Look” Gill says – laying her hand on Rachel’s bare forearm, the warm contact making Rachel swallow thickly. “I’ve told you when we were in Bristol, I made a stupid mistake waiting years to tell Dave where to get off, which I should have much earlier, and I paid for it. I’ve made my peace with it - mostly,” she grimaces. “but there are days like today when the bastard still gets to me. Not because he’s a knob – but because of what I let him do to my life.” Her hand remains steadily on Rachel’s arm. 

“So, when I am hard on you – it’s well, for the reason I am hard on everyone, keeps you lot focused on doing your best work. But with you – I don’t want to see you throw away your potential. You go in there with the right edge – you’re magnificent in that interview room – and you have a knack of figuring out just which dots to connect, Sherlock.” 

Rachel swallows, trying not to let on that Gill is unraveling her composure like a piece of twine. But she feels on edge, strung out, and exhausted. The thought of Sean’s puppy face suffocates her. The way that he keeps bringing up marriage – it’s the type of stability everyone seems to think she needs, but pure claustrophobia is all she feels when she so much as considers it. Meanwhile her anger at Dom for making her miss her exams sits deep in her bones. Eclipsed only by her anger at Nick bloody Savage and the whole bloody system of justice which is letting her down, dropping the bloody charges. But mostly she is angry at herself, for the way that whatever she touches, or how hard she tries, everything just seems to turn to shit whenever she finally seems to be making some headway. 

Looking away from Gill, she scowls at the garden wall. Gill lets go of her arm, and touches her shoulder, turning a surprised Rachel’s gaze back towards her. Looking her straight in the eye, with a softened, almost tender look, Gill says, “I know it’s not been easy for you lately. You’ve done really well. I am so proud of you, Rachel.” 

Maybe it’s the way that Gill says her first name, but a small sob escapes Rachel before she can help it. She sets down her glass and hastily wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. It’s embarrassing, but hearing those words from the woman that she admires so much for her competence, her brilliance, and her integrity – the woman she’s fancied more than a bit since day one, if she’s honest – after she’s been so sure with each time she’s mucked up recently, that Gill can’t be anything but disappointed in her – it’s just too much. 

Rachel smiles self-consciously at Gill, her lips trembling, and sniffling a little. Gill looks a mixture of concerned and embarrassed herself. 

“I’m sorry, boss.” Rachel says, her voice a bit hoarse. “I just. . . I don’t usually give a toss what people think, that I’m summat a mess – like, I know that’s true enough but –“ she gnaws her lower lip and starts fishing another fag out of the pack– lighting it. “It means a lot to me, what you think.” She inhales a bit shakily, “that you think I’m worth something, I mean I know I haven’t . . . ”  
Gill still looks at her steadily. 

“I do.” Gill says almost too quietly to hear. But Rachel hears her. And holds her breath. 

“Rachel, when you have your head screwed on right, I think the world of you. I brag about having you on my syndicate. Truth is, you are going to be the death of me one day, kid. You are a brilliant detective, but you are also. . . 

Rachel is sure she hasn’t even had that much gin – but something in her just short-circuits – zeroing in on those piercing brown eyes, gone soft in the fading light of the day, she interrupts Gill mid-sentence, by leaning forward and planting a kiss squarely on her mouth. There is no good reason on earth for the kiss, except she tries to convey what she doesn’t know how to say –because she has never been as daring in her words as she is when it comes to her body –and for one short moment, the whole world is condensed into the sensation of Gill’s lips, surprisingly soft, and warm. 

But then the world comes awkwardly flooding back. Gill doesn’t react – doesn’t pull away – doesn’t kiss her back. After a second – or an eternity - she slowly steadies Rachel with a hand on her shoulder. Rachel looks at her in horror – wants to jump up but keeps sitting as if bolted to the spot on the stairs. Shit - what has she done? She’s just went and lost her job, not two minutes after she swore to Gill she’d be worthy of her good opinion – she gulps for air, feels just short of hyperventilating. Shit, shit, shit.

“Rachel” Gill says – and when Rachel meets her gaze Gill looks at her without anger. She cups Rachel’s face with her perfect, fine-boned hand and the intimate touch, so out of the ordinary, doesn’t help her panic one bit.  
“Rachel – I want you to become a sergeant - and then a DCI – SIO. . . I want you to have the career that you deserve to have. And I know you will. You’re so much braver than you think.” Gill inhales. “But I’m your superior officer and as much - ” she tucks a stray strand of Rachel’s hair behind her ear, and she looks so tender, and pained as she does it that Rachel has to sharply dig her right thumbnail into the palm of her left hand in order not to start crying again, - “as much. . .” Gill seems to be fumbling for words, finally huffs out a breath, “This cannot happen.” 

Rachel shivers and finally stands up, backing away from Gill –“I’ll leave the case file, boss.” She almost stumbles back inside, grabs her purse of the TV table and basically runs out the front door to her car, fumbling with the ignition – swearing. She knows she shouldn’t even be driving, but she needs to get away. She drives in a daze, angrily swiping at her eyes. 

She makes it home, drops her purse and opens a bottle of wine, drinking down the first glass almost without pause. Gropes for her fags in her purse, groaning at the realization that she’s left them at Gill’s. Sits down hard on the sofa and pours herself another glass, drinking, staring into the dark. 

***

Gill Murray is a proud woman. She has worked hard to be where she is in her career. She knows she is good at what she is doing and that she deserves her position at MIT. She is well aware that some people think her cold-hearted as much as levelheaded, but at least they respect her. If there’s one thing that Gill hates, it is being humiliated. 

Having to run out of her own briefing is humiliating. Having Rachel Bailey show up at the very moment when she tries to get Dave out of the house, and then have her help getting her sodding ex-husband into a taxi is even more humiliating. Because at best Rachel must read this as a sign that Dave does not respect her, his ex-wife, enough, even after years of being bloody divorced, to crawl into some other hole to wallow in self-pity, and at worst it must look as if Gill doesn’t have any respect for herself, is still accepting Dave as a part of her life – after what he has done to her. 

But Rachel doesn’t say anything – just looks at her with that intense gaze of hers. What is she even doing here? Gill walks back towards the house – she needs a drink. Hears Rachel mumble something about a case file but just keeps going. Leaves the door open. 

She’s pouring herself as glass of gin when the younger detective walks in – careful movements. She must be worried that her boss is losing it. She’s likely to have spotted Gill’s smeared makeup, and her red eyes. There’s not much Sherlock doesn’t register. She is good at reading people. And Gill has caught her watching her more than once – often apprehensively – as if she expects Gill to tell her off. God knows on more than one occasion she’s had to. Rachel has great instinct when it comes to police work, but she’s a mess when it comes to personal relationships. An entirely enthralling mess, if she’s honest – which she isn’t because that would be an absolutely inappropriate way to regard her detective . . . Her detective who comes to work in wrinkled clothes and hung-over – but even then is still smarter than most of the syndicate. Quick. Tenacious. And with the warmest, charming smile, if she gets something right. 

Gill enjoys her presence – it might cost her her last nerve, but it also steadies her, - which is why she asked Rachel to come to Bristol for the Jeremy Leach case. When she’s not making horrible decisions about her life, Rachel is focused and confident – it’s reassuring. And just maybe Gill wanted to show off a bit, impress Rachel with her past at NPIA, with her skills. And they solved that case brilliantly – smiling at each other – proud of their work.  
If the way Gill’s stomach swooped at Rachel’s answering smiles as they pieced the case together, wasn’t an ample enough warning sign that she needed to back off, the way she enjoys spending time with her, one on one in the car, the way she finds herself telling Rachel personal things, wants to keep talking to her, learn more about her while they are in Bristol, certainly is. When they get back to Oldham, with the whole syndicate around, Gill finds it easier to retreat into her professional role and push those moments in Bristol to the back of her mind. 

But when Rachel appears at her house, Gill, already shaken by Dave’s drunken appearance, finds herself frazzled by the realization that for the first time since Bristol, they are alone just the two of them. Rachel takes the gin offered, hands over her cigarettes to Gill, and follows her out to the back stairs. They smoke. But then the inevitable “Why was he at the house?” 

Gill, usually so adamant about keeping her private life sheltered, finds herself wanting to justify herself to Rachel, which irritates her in its own way. Nevertheless, she proceeds to to explain, in her best DCI Murray tone, what happened. And Rachel doesn’t seem to judge her, like she feared she would. Makes her laugh instead. That formidable woman. All wavy hair and infatuating smile and directness, like she has no idea at all what effect she has on her superior officer. 

And then there’s the vulnerable version of Rachel, who becomes all bashful and shy – asking Gill if she really thinks she is brilliant, with that look in her eyes – like Gill is a life-line.  
And Gill has to stop herself then and there from reaching out to her. Which would be entirely out of character. Gill doesn’t hug her officers – she doesn’t believe in coddling anyone in her syndicate. She’s good at compartmentalizing. Even with Janet, who has been her friend going on twenty years now, it doesn’t interfere with their professional work, though they’ve accumulated their share of inside jokes over time. But damn her if her protective feelings for Bailey aren’t painfully undermining all those principles. She is well aware how much Rachel has had the kind of life in which people have made her understand too many times that she’s not worth the effort. Her mother for one - who walked out on her kids, making no secret of her priorities there. But also her brother, dragging Rachel into his own mess of a life as if she owes it to him just for being family. Gill feels a strange anger at Rachel’s family for letting her down. And the string of boyfriends – first and foremost Savage – who take advantage of the fact that she needs reassurance – that Rachel never feels quite good enough –- they don’t get her – don’t understand her brilliance – how her mind works. Even this Sean, who seems to have no ambition beyond the next weekend. Gill just wants to make Rachel understand that she is good enough. Far more than good enough. 

And it’s the day she’s had – and the arsehole presence of Dave, who after all evidence to the contrary still takes her for granted – and Rachel doesn’t, and the gin downed too fast, and Rachel’s soulful eyes – that make her say the words she swore to herself she would not say – tell her how proud she is. And then, even worse, Rachel starts crying and Gill keeps on blundering through. . . 

“I brag about having you on my syndicate.” What Gill doesn’t tell Rachel is that Julie Dodson has smirked at her a bit too knowingly more than once when she was going on about Rachel and how marvellously she put the right clues together. 

“You are going to be the death of me one day, kid. You are a brilliant detective, but you are also” – and it’s maybe as well that suddenly Rachel’s lips are on her own and she freezes. Because she was about to confess to Rachel that she thinks that she’s the most beautiful, magnificent mess of a woman she’s ever met. 

Even though she doesn’t actually say those words, she immediately blames herself when Rachel kisses her– that she provoked this – because the moment it happens she knows she wants this – wanted it at least since Bristol. But she has to end it. Because she cannot risk Rachel’s career to satisfy her own petty desires. That would make her no better than Dave. She stutters out the words to make Rachel back off – though she does her best to sound firm and controlled – worthy of Godzilla. 

And then Rachel runs out on her, leaving her fags behind. And Gill sits on the back stairs, smoking one cigarette, then another, staring into the dark. Julie will have such a laugh at her, getting herself into this mess. If she ever tells her. 

***  



	2. II.

Chapter II: 

Despite everything, Gill puts on the dress she’d laid out for Sammy’s engagement party in the morning, but she simply cannot make herself leave her bedroom and face the guests. She feels tense and numb simultaneously – though she welcomes the numbness – feeds it with regular sips of alcohol – it’s better than the all-engulfing panic that took hold of her body as soon as she was out of the car and the harsh air on top of the cliff hit her face and her lungs. 

A knock on the door brings her out of her thoughts back to the present. Janet and Rachel push their way into the bedroom. 

Gill rouses herself, sits up on the bed. She will not cry in front of them. In front of Rachel, who looks so nervous about having come to the party uninvited. Through the numbness of and the sheer exhaustion of the day, Gill feels a wave of tenderness for her. “You can crash my parties any time, kid,” she hears herself say, and feels more light-hearted immediately, when she sees the small smile pass between Janet and Rachel and realizes they have mended their row. Inevitably they ask the same question everyone keeps asking her: "are you alright?" As she forces herself to respond, the image of the blood soaking Helen’s jeans and the car upholstery looms in the back of her mind, but she manages to change the topic and distract herself, gets them to confess that they’ve made up, and they even have a laugh – it’s a small fragment of normality, but Gill feels endlessly thankful to both of them for it.

Janet’s phone vibrates in her pocket. She looks at the screen and excuses herself – “I just gotta give the girls a quick ring. I’ll go out in the yard.” 

***

Rachel intends to leave the room with Janet, but lingers. She cannot stop staring at the angry red marks on Gill’s throat which are faintly visible even in the dim light of the bedside lamp. She cannot stop staring at Gill, period – ridiculously irrationally afraid that she’ll disappear if she lets her out of her sight. 

Gill returns her gaze, but says nothing. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Rachel breaks the silence - feels she needs to say the words. “Well it is my house,” Gill replies, clearly attempting to keep up the light bantering tone from before, though she must know that’s not what Rachel meant. Rachel clarifies anyway. “No, I mean – not - dead” Her tongue doesn’t quite seem to fit around the word. It makes her feel like she’s drowning - a heavy weight that pulls her down somewhere in the region of her diaphragm. 

Gill reaches out, curls her fingers around Rachel’s wrist – and Rachel grabs on to Gill’s wrist in turn. A necessary reassurance for both of them, it seems. They sit without saying anything and Rachel’s emotions are blocking all her words. Her eyes burn and her jaw hurts with the effort to swallow down the immense lump in her throat because she does not want to embarrass Gill again with her tears – Gill, who has been so incredibly fucking brave throughout the whole ordeal. She bursts with the need to let Gill know that a world without her is too painful to contemplate– a realization that hit her hot and cold simultaneously in the pit of her stomach as she was watching Gill, grainy, on the screen of the RED center, Gill scrambling out of the car. She doesn't need the confirmation of Julie Dodson secretly wiping her eyes upon seeing Gill safe to know how close a call this was. She wants to tell Gill how sorry she is for the whole mess with Sean and Kevin, for her disastrous decision to marry Sean in the first place, for shagging Kevin simply because being married to Sean is the worst, for her fight with Janet – wants to explain that it doesn’t mean anything other than delivering further proof of how shit she is at human interaction. But that’s exactly it, isn’t it? She’s given Gill so many reasons to be disappointed, and Gill clearly isn’t interested in her affection – or her penchant for inappropriate behavior . . .

Lost in these grim thoughts for a moment Rachel focuses back on Gill when she feels the hand that holds on to her shaking. She realizes all of Gill is shaking, trembling with suppressed sobs, tears streaming down her face and without any further thought about appropriateness she gathers her into her arms and holds her tight. Gill continues shaking but cries so quietly that Rachel is worried she’ll suffocate herself. Even in breaking down she’s so controlled it’s nothing short of amazing. Rachel says nothing – just holds on to Gill securely, trying to make her presence as comforting as possible. Finally Gill’s breathing slows, the trembling stops, but she makes no attempt to move from the circle of Rachel’s arms. She’s so quiet Rachel wonders whether she’s gone to sleep. She will sit here all night holding her if that’s what Gill needs. 

After another small eternity, Rachel’s back hurts and her legs have long gone numb from sitting sideways on the bed, Gill stirs, disentangles herself. Her face is a mess – puffy and red – and she looks absolutely lovely to Rachel.   
“Alright?” Rachel asks quietly. In response Gill shifts and kisses Rachel softly, wetly, on the lips. Even though Rachel wants this so much it hurts, she pulls back. “What are you . . .? Is this a good idea?” 

Gill looks at her, “In the car, when I thought I’d had it - I thought about how I’d never get to do this. How stupid - stupid. . .” she winds both of her hands into Rachel’s hair at the back of her head – pulls her close and kisses her yet again. Then abruptly stops and looks Rachel squarely in the eyes. “It’s probably not a good idea – but,” she blinks and looks so adorably embarrassed Rachel almost laughs, “I really want to do this – if you. . .” 

And even though Rachel is more than apprehensive about how this decision will look to Gill in the light of day of the morning after, there’s not a fiber in her body with the willpower to say no and she’s kissing Gill again – deeply, urgently. Their hands are reaching for each other, reassuring themselves that they are really there, as Gill pulls Rachel down on the bed with her. 

***

It’s indecent, really, the sounds that Rachel is eliciting from her, but the way that Rachel’s hand between her legs makes her unable to focus on anything else, think anything else, is exactly what she needs. Gill loses herself in the warmth of Rachel’s lips, the thrill of her tongue, her taste, the possessiveness with which she touches Gill, and yet the selflessness – she clings to Rachel – digs her nails into her shoulders. Grabs her glorious hair, greedily captures her mouth, over and over until the world frays at the seams and comes apart. 

Everything is softness in the circle of Rachel’s arms. And the horrible tension curled up so tightly inside her body is gone for the moment and it’s such a relief that she finds herself sobbing helplessly for the second time this evening. And Rachel just holds her. Strokes her hair and her back. Doesn’t try to say anything or to make her explain. But she’s there, unyielding and safe until exhaustion takes over and Gill falls asleep. 

When she wakes up the next morning, disoriented and sore, she’s alone. The first thing she spots is Rachel’s pack of cigarettes on her nightstand. 

***

Rachel wakes up a few hours after falling asleep, trying to get her bearings in the unfamiliar surroundings. She is in her knickers and a tank top, she is in Gill’s room, in Gill’s bed under Gill’s covers and Gill is out cold next to her. Looking peaceful and soft. The faintly glowing alarm clock next to the small bedside lamp says 4:56. Rachel listens. The house is quiet. 

She gets out of bed as soundlessly as she can –she knows it’s unfair sneak out on Gill like this, but it’ll be worse if she has to explain to her son why her DC stayed for breakfast. So Rachel steps into her pants and pulls on her shirt, grabs her shoes and purse from the floor, stuffs her discarded bra into the purse - carefully slinks out of the room and down the stairs, taking pains to pull the front door shut very slowly and quietly behind her. 

When she enters her own living room, not a quarter of an hour later, she lets herself sink heavily onto the couch. She looks at her phone for the first time since the previous evening. A missed call from Janet at 11:00. And two texts from last night. “Rachel, I’m heading home – Taisie was really upset about the kidnapping” Sent at 10:22. Then one at 11:18 “You okay? Did you stay and talk to Gill some more?”

Rachel groans – she feels exhausted. Drags herself to the sink and fills up a tall glass with water. After she’s drunk it she shuffles to the bathroom to shower. Last night floods her mind. Gill’s face as she pretends to Janet and Rachel she is okay. Gill’s face as she is crying. Gill’s face after she kissed Rachel. Gill’s face as Rachel touches her. Gill’s small body in the circle of her arms. Gill’s skin, Gill’s scent, Gill’s erratic breathing, Gill’s lips. The sounds that escape her. Rachel stands under the hot spray of the shower, aware that she is grinning like an idiot and her skin is tingling with arousal, despite the fact that the ways in which she can fuck up have seem to have reached a new level of spectacular. 

She soaring feeling doesn’t last, and instead she begins to imagine all the different scenarios of how Gill will find ways to fire her.   
After three more missed phone calls from Janet in the course of the day, in which Rachel does nothing but go out for more cigarettes and stare at her living room wall, Janet actually shows up at Rachel’s in the evening.   
“What’s up?” she asks as Rachel lets her in after she’s rung the doorbell several times.   
Rachel just shrugs because how can she explain to Janet that she’s done something stupid on a scale that is even grander than shagging Kevin in Janet’s home? 

Janet sits down next to Rachel on the couch. “Rach, I know that you like to think that other people don’t concern you, but it’s okay to be shaken up about what’s happened. With Gill.” She puts her hand on Rachel’s arm, and it’s meant to be comforting, but it only reminds Rachel that this time even Janet who is the most forgiving person, will not forgive her for this - not after she just swore to her to be better - only yesterday – and her face scrunches up and the tears start flowing against her will. 

“Oh Rach, come here” Janet says, misunderstanding Rachel’s distress, because of course she hasn’t got a clue. But having Janet’s arms around her is comforting and Rachel resolves simply not to tell her. She can’t imagine a world in which Gill would tell anyone – maybe Dodson. But Gill will easily enough find a way to shove Rachel off to another syndicate and be shot of her without ever mentioning what happened between them. Reasons have never been in short supply. 

Despite her resolve, she does tell Janet in the end, because she knows she will never be able to walk through the doors at Oldham again if she doesn’t. And Janet looks at her like she’s more than half convinced Rachel’s having her on, but at least she doesn’t laugh. Grows thoughtful instead.   
“Well, Rach,” she finally says, “I can’t tell you what Gill was thinking, obviously, but I can tell you that, for me, when I got stabbed there was this sense – like the world’s shrunk down to a brightly burning point and your own life is – I just felt – I can’t keep waiting around. Like everything just took on intensity. And it made me crave connection – that’s why I gave Andy a chance – I just wanted something more – so I don’t know, but whether it was just a reaction to the trauma, or whether there’s more, I think it means something that it was you.”

“So I am Andy in this equation?” Rachel scoffs. “You really know how to make a bad situation worse.” 

Janet stays serious. Brushes strands of Rachel’s hair out of her face with her fingers, so she can look her straight in the eyes. “You’re nothing like Andy, but. . . see, nothing would have happened with Andy if there hadn’t been a history between us. There was attraction, before. So all I’m saying is, maybe this didn’t come out of nowhere with Gill, either.” 

No, not out of nowhere. Rachel remembers the night in the garden. But she kissed Gill, and Gill made it clear . . .”   
Her thoughts are interrupted when a grin spreads on Janet’s face and she digs her elbow into Rachel’s side – “should’ve heard her, the way she told Julie Dodson “I told you she’s mine” – 

“When?” 

“Oh a few weeks back, at the pub. We were sitting at the table and you’d gotten up to get us another bottle, and Dodson commented – favourably – on your interview skills with Joe Bevan. . . and that’s when Gill gave her this look and said ‘I told you she’s mine. . . . Dodson just grinned at her. They’ve been friends forever, those two, so I just figured – you know, some private joke. . . but maybe Dodson figured it was something more than. . .” 

“But she’s straight. . .” Rachel interrupts. “Gill, not Dodson, I mean.” 

“As much as you are,” Janet shoots back, “apparently,” raising her eyebrows and cracking a sly smile. 

“Look, why don’t you talk to Gill. She’s forgiven you your other ‘inappropriate sexual encounters’ – hasn’t she? Just, you know, now it’s out of both of your systems and you can move on then. . . you sergeants’ exams are coming up soon and then – after, you can see what you want to do.”

“But I don’t want to” Rachel starts more vehemently than she meant to “I don’t think I want to get it out of my system,” she finishes quietly, not meeting Janet’s gaze. “I think I . . . really fancy her - more than I’ve ever fancied any bloke I’ve known.” 

Janet sighs, “Well if that’s how it is, Rach, then you might still want to talk to her? Find out how she feels?”

“Ya. . .” Rachel nods, “just not right away maybe – like, give her some time to deal with all the other fallout that’s going to happen. Dodson will be in on Monday for the statements and all. . . and then - I mean it’d be good to let things quiet down a bit first.”

Things don’t quiet down, however. Gill is back to her unapproachable façade – if anything more erratic and quick to anger. Rachel busies herself studying for her sergeant’s exams – which she passes with flying colors this time. 

When Gill makes her acting sergeant, it comes out of the blue, and Rachel is completely overwhelmed. She is so giddy and anxious that something is finally going right that she actually has to run to the toilets to throw up. It doesn’t stop her from feeling ridiculously happy though. At first everything goes swimmingly, apart from Rob who keeps putting his nagging baby face in to interfere where he isn’t needed. 

When he finally leaves, and Gill, almost in the same breath, announces her retirement, Rachel still hasn’t spoken to her about that night – about what happened between them. It’s as if they have a tacit agreement to pretend it never happened and sometimes it feels so unreal that Rachel’s beginning to doubt whether she imagined it all. The thought of Gill retiring makes her feel so queasy she tries to just not think about it at all. But as soon as she manages to solve – or ignore – one problem another pops up. Her mother has made some more questionable life decisions and her boyfriend gets booked for possession and distribution. So of course she wants Rachel to pull strings for her. Gill doesn’t seem satisfied with anything Rachel does, and is as steely cold as ever. One evening, Rachel catches her drinking at the office. At least it looks like she’s been drinking, given the glass and the small bottle on her desk. Rachel doesn’t dare ask her directly, but when Gill accepts her offer of driving her home, she takes this as confirmation. As if that alone wasn’t enough to deal with, Gill drops another bombshell on her out of nowhere, in the car - tells Rachel she’s chosen her as sergeant only after Janet declined the job. Rachel is torn between anger at Gill who seems to want to punish her in this childish way – telling her now - and anger at herself for not being good enough to have been chosen first. There’s a niggling voice in the back of her mind whispering that she’ll never be Gill’s first choice. 

Things look up when she meets Will Pemberton, head of Vice. He’s kind, smart, he acknowledges her skills, he’s funny – believes in her wholeheartedly and encourages her to plan her next career steps, to think further than Syndicate 9, to apply for the vice initiative in London. Tall, dark, handsome. A bit boring maybe in his straightforward dependability. Rachel tells herself boring is good – dependable is good - is exactly what she needs in fact, and slips into the relationship almost without noticing, almost without meaning to, the way she always does when she craves reassurance. She tries to make it work. Will is a good person – he deserves honesty. And yet. It doesn’t take long for him to figure out that Rachel’s not as committed as he is. For one thing, she doesn’t want Gill to find out. Doesn’t need to give her another excuse to think she cannot do this job on her own merit. 

Gill does find out.   
When Rachel finally asks her, at the end of another long day, at the pub, about whether she’s heard from HR about her placement for the Vice initiative, the look on Gill’s face turns icy. “Question or statement?”   
Rachel dreads what will follow without knowing how to stop it. “Question.”

“My turn. Are you shagging Will Pemberton”   
“Who told you that?”  
“You just did, when you didn’t say no.”   
Rachel looks her in the eyes, swallows, wishing the ground would open up, but she also feels defiant. Gill doesn’t stop. “I thought you were smarter than that.” 

Rachel doesn’t even clearly hear the words that follow – until Gill says “Don’t take me for a mug.” She wants to scream at her “You don’t get to do this - you don’t want me!” Because that is all she can think to say: as accusation and defense in one. 

***  



	3. III.

Chapter III:

Gill thinks a lot more about Rachel after that night of Sammy’s engagement party – the night after Helen Bartlett – than she likes to admit to herself. There are a million things to do and at first she’s fine: getting right back on the horse, as they say. But then, all of a sudden there’s the bloody insecurity that’s haunting her. She still gets absorbed in the job, but at the back of her mind there is this new thing lurking – a constant “what if?” that rattles her when she has to come to a conclusion, decide on a line of enquiry, weigh options. It’s highly unsettling, like the ground under her feet can’t bet trusted. It still feels solid – but she can never be sure it will be when she takes the next step. 

And mixed in with all that is Rachel Bailey. When she sees Rachel at her desk, sees her stepping up to a challenge, sees her in full Sherlock mode, making connections that no other of her officers – besides Janet – would ever make, it anchors her. Reassures her that she’s made the right decision to not pursue whatever happened that night – or to even bring it up with Rachel. But when she’s alone, at home, or in the office late, finishing paperwork, that night comes back to her: the way that Rachel looked at her, the way that Rachel held her, touched her. Gill knows that Rachel tries her best to never let on how much she cares, but she also remembers the way Rachel held a severely bleeding Janet in her arms on the back bench of the police car back when Geoff Hastings had stabbed her. The look on her face. The way she tried to keep Janet awake. The moment she lost her composure, waiting in front of the hospital. And she thinks of the way that this woman, whose private life is constantly in shambles, this woman who turns instantly defiant and defensive when someone tries to reach out to her – succeeded in grounding her to herself, succeeded in setting the world right for a few hours, providing a shield from everything that’s happened simply with her physical presence. 

Gill tries to remember that feeling, tries to lean into it. It’s not a feeling she’s used to. Even with Dave, she never needed any such protection, or shelter. She was the one who protected – who stood up for herself, who found her own solutions. Being dependent on anyone else is a feeling she hates – she and Rachel really are a lot alike in that way. 

But she’s also unlike Rachel. She likes reliable procedures, guidelines, she finds comfort in doing things how they are done. Following procedure means certainty of having done the right thing. Or at least it used to. 

Marriage, a child – they were things she wanted as well as the job. Gill is a career woman, and she won’t ever let anyone, certainly not men, tell her what she can and cannot do. But there’s a part of Gill that likes scripts. Being respected, being respectable means a lot to her. Maybe because her parents were so often ashamed of who they were. Even her affair with the toy-boy, when she was finally ready for a rebound after Dave’s betrayal, was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that could affect her reputation. She’s never been as daring as Julie. Or as attuned to her own desires. She remembers how much flack Julie took when the lads at the station first found out that she was into women, when they were all still in training. They weren’t hostile, but they dragged out every tired joke in the book, over and over. Julie never gave any sign that it bothered her – not even to Gill – she just remained herself – unapologetically sure of who she was. 

Gill tried to ask her about it once or twice, horrified at imagining herself in Julie’s position. Gill had to work very hard those first years at keeping her composure, at not being flustered every time the lads took the piss, every time they overlooked her, didn’t take her seriously. She had to assemble her armor piece by sodding piece. But Julie came with inbuilt armor. And without Julie, Gill would probably not have survived those first years. 

When in their last months of training Gill brings the question up once again, hesitantly one evening at the pub, after Julie hinted at the strained relationship with her parents since her coming out, whether she ever considered it might just be easier if she were interested in men, Julie looked at her, seriously: 

“Slap, why are you asking this now?” A frown. “Are you uncomfortable with me in any way?”

“No,” Gill exclaims – “God, no. . . I just – we already have to put up with so much crap because we’re outnumbered by twats, I just – It makes me so angry . . .” She doesn’t know how to put in words the protective feelings she has for Julie, even though she knows Julie doesn’t need her protection. 

“Gill,” Julie says. “You know that things would be easier if you wanted to be a housewife, or a nurse, or a teacher, not a copper, but that’s not it for you, never been – and you know it. Well, same for me – I just know that men are – not an option” – she snorts “not sure why they are for anyone, really.” Gill laughs, a little nervously. 

“I am not responsible for people’s opinion of me. Not in that respect.” Julie shakes her head. “And I started early on understanding that there are some people I can’t please, cannot make happy – cannot make them understand. It takes some getting used to, but in a way it also makes things a hell of a lot easier.” She reaches out and takes Gill’s hand. “You should try it sometime, Slap” and she winks at her in such a way that Gill blushes because it’s ambiguous whether Julie means not caring about other’s opinions or sleeping with women.

That hits a little close to home in fact, and she hates not telling Julie about this, but the reason for her question is that she has begun to wonder if she’s as straight as she always thought. She bursts to confide in Julie, but there’s no way she can tell anyone, not even Julie, that a few weeks ago she’s ended up in bed with the instructor who led the set of training weekends for interview techniques at Merseyside PTA in Liverpool. 

Julie had wanted to sign up as well, but couldn’t make it work with her shift schedule. Gill grudgingly went alone, expecting to be once again completely outnumbered by blokes, half of whom would likely think bullying the interviewee to tears was the way to go, and half of whom considered it their prime strategy to charm their way to a confession. 

***

When Gill enters the training room at Merseyside, it looks like she had pegged that exactly right, but isn’t she surprised to find a stylish woman, DCI Nellum, will be leading the training. DCI Nellum is tall with broad shoulders, that look muscular under her blouse. She has short-cropped black hair and dark but piercing eyes. Probably in her late thirties, though it’s hard to tell. She has few laugh-lines around her eyes, which Gill finds an inexplicably attractive detail. When she begins talking, her smoky voice sends an actual shiver down Gill’s spine. Femme fatale.“Welcome gentlemen” she pauses, and focuses on Gill “lady” she says and then winks at Gill. Gill immediately decides to dislike her, specifically for that flirtatious wink. But despite this resolution Gill finds herself completely fascinated by every sentence that comes out of the woman’s mouth for the next hours. Luckily Nellum also seems to handle the boys well, they don’t turn sullen, arrogant, or belittling as she’s so often witnessed when someone expects them to “take advice” from women. When the blokes scramble out of the training room at the end of the day to go have a pint at the pub down the road, Gill takes her time collecting her notes. When she is ready to leave, DCI Nellum, who is packing up her own materials, clears her throat “Not joining the lads then?” She asks. Gill turns to her, flustered “No, I. . .”   
“Yeah, can be a bit much testosterone gathered, can’t it?” the older woman laughs and winks at Gill again, and Gill can feel herself blushing. 

“There’s a nice bar around the corner though – plan to go there for a drink. Want to come along?” 

“No, I . . . thank you, Ma’am, I’ll just get to the hotel - want to work some more on these notes.” Gill stammers, feeling ridiculous. “It was really quite fascinating.” She beams at the older woman, because she really loves the ways DCI Nellum made her think harder, quicker throughout the day. After a breathy “Goodnight” she nevertheless all but runs from the room. The hotel is just a few doors down from the station training rooms, and sitting on her bed in the rather shabby room five minutes later she tries to go over her notes, but is too distracted feeling like a complete knob. Why did the invitation make her so nervous? Because superior officers don’t invite their subordinates for drinks. Because DCI Nellum achieved what Gill wants to achieve – and Gill is worried the DCI won’t find her up to scratch to follow the same path. That’s one answer, but that’s not quite it, although the close scrutiny, the way that this woman looks so intently at Gill when she talks to her, is most unnerving. It takes Gill a long time to fall asleep, and her eyes feel grainy and tired the next morning, but the topics are just as fascinating and she’s utterly focused and almost giddy despite her tiredness. 

She does tell Julie, back in Manchester, over a drink at the pub, how amazing the female DCI is who is leading the training and how sorry she is that Julie cannot be there. But when Julie raises a questioning eyebrow at her gushing, Gill immediately tones it down, and then quickly changes the subject. 

The next weekend training is five weeks later and Gill finds herself at once excited and nervous about it. She catches herself thinking about DCI Nellum, her hair, her shoulders, her voice, increasingly. Her heart beats fast as she enters the training room at Merseyside. They’re all paired off this time to practice interview techniques. The guy with whom Gill ends up in a team is friendly enough – quiet and assured, but not one who needs to prove that he can outsmart a woman. Nevertheless Gill feels triumphant when she catches him on a detail, makes him contradict himself in six minutes flat during the interview exercise. Her stomach flutters when DCI Nellum smiles broadly at her, “Well done, Prescott” 

At the end of the day Gill is completely exhausted but also exhilarated. Even better, her partner from the interview training actually asks her “coming to the pub?”   
Gill briefly considers joining them, because it’s not that often that they ask. But she smiles and politely declines because she is really exhausted. And maybe – just maybe, she’s hoping DCI Nellum will invite her out again. Though it’s stupid really. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the older woman grabbing her rather large purse and heading towards the door. Catching Gill’s glance, she smiles widely at her. “Please tell me you’re not making me go out for that glass of wine by myself again.” 

“I. . . “ Gill blushes but rallies, “no Ma’am.” 

The older woman laughs “Oh please, call me Claire” and she hold out her hand to Gill, who shakes it. “Gill” she says. 

And after the first glass of red Gill finds that she really really likes Claire. She’s funny, she’s an easy conversationalist, and she’s actually interested in what Gill has to say, unlike most police officers she’s met – although, she’s hardly had any opportunity to spend time with her superiors in a bar. Claire is smart, and beautiful, and flirtatious in a way that makes Gill tingle all over. Not that Gill is into women. But she’s on her third glass of wine, and she hasn’t eaten much other than a sandwich at lunch and a few peanuts provided by the barkeeper. And she is enjoying herself. At one point, Claire takes her hand and says earnestly, “I know it’s tough, but I think it’s actually getting better, and I just love seeing women like you in the force. You’re so much quicker on the uptake than all these blokes – and you’re not too full of yourself to pay attention. So promise me you’ll stick it out, okay?”

Gill laughs, flattered at the compliment, but also feels herself blushing once again and tries to divert attention from herself “You should meet my friend Julie,” she says, “Julie Dodson. She wanted to attend the training, but she couldn’t make it work with the schedule this time. She is really brilliant.”

And Claire just raises an eyebrow, smiles warmly and says “Ah? Well I hope she sticks with it too, then.” Gill realizes Claire is still holding on to her hand. 

In all the years since, Gill has never been quite sure how she ended up in Claire’s room that night. Some flimsy pretense or other about a book on interview techniques? Something about the proving to Gill the horrible view out of the window right onto the ventilator pipes? What she does remember is standing in the dimly lighted room, barely less shabby than her own, when Claire cups Gill’s cheek in her hand, looks directly at her and says “Gill Prescott, I would like to take you to bed.” 

They’re both a good distance from sober and Gill, in the back of her mind, thinks that Claire must have had this outcome in mind all along. But Claire doesn’t move, looks at Gill intently, clearly waiting for some form of consent and because Gill has not the slightest idea how to tell another woman that yes, she does want to go to bed with her, she moves forward and kisses Claire. 

Gill doesn’t remember a lot of details from that night. She does remember a feeling of awe at how fantastic it felt, to be touched by Claire, to be kissing Claire, to have Claire’s slick body move against her own. She remembers thinking she might be in love with Claire. 

She wakes up very early, disoriented and hung-over. To her surprise, she finds Claire awake, sitting on the bed in a bathrobe. It must have been Claire turning on the bedside lamp that woke her. The older woman kisses Gill on the cheek. “That – was wonderful. You are wonderful,” she says and smiles. “I think it might be best though if you came out of your own room in the morning, rather than mine.” She smiles again, openly and reassuringly. 

“What. . . ya. . . um. . . sure” Gill murmurs, still sleepy, a bit embarrassed, not awake enough by far to fully process what is happening. She stares at Claire, bleary-eyed and trying to think of a away to articulate her half-formed questions when Claire puts a warm hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she says, “I won’t tell if you don’t” and she gives her that wink again. For a second, Gill thinks she wants to burst into tears at being dismissed like this – but she’s too confused to really react and she scrambles into her clothes, locates her own room key and with a small-sounding “bye” she leaves the room. 

Back in Bruche it does take Gill a while to get sorted again. She considers telling Julie, who is clearly curious and a bit irritated at Gill’s sudden renitence to talk about the last training weekend, when she was so eager to share all the details from the first one with Julie before. But she can’t risk it. Claire – DCI Nellum is a superior officer and it’s not that she doesn’t trust Julie, but she’s scared that simply by saying things out loud they will take on a type of reality in the world that she’s not ready for. She thinks of that night a lot. It does make her wonder. But ultimately, she decides, firmly, she’s interested in men – in having a family. And when Dave Murray appears in her life it’s easy to believe she doesn’t have a doubt about it. 

Gill shoves “the incident” firmly to the back of her mind. She doesn’t tell Julie about it until one evening years later when they are “celebrating” that Gill’s just signed her divorce papers and Gill is very, very drunk. Julie just says, thoughtfully “I though something was up with you when you came back that second training weekend. . . . DCI Claire Nellum, really,” she tries to suppress her laughter. “I only met her once, at some function – she was quite charming, actually. Rumor has it she also thought every single woman in the police force was gay. . . Think she moved to Ireland though with her partner – what, ages ago. . . ” 

“I’m not gay,” Gill says, somewhat petulantly.   
“No love,” Julie says, smiling warmly at her “but, turns out, you’re not quite straight either, are you now?” Then her smile turns playful “well, I guess that just means you have double the options now you’re shot of Captain Underpants.”

But despite meeting several women over the years who prick her interest, and make her think back to that night, Gill doesn’t ever considered seriously pursuing these feelings. 

Until she meets Rachel Bailey. And even then, she safely settles for thinking of it in terms of mentorship – pushing Rachel to be better – and being exasperated at her notorious inability to keep her private life out of the job. She swears to herself she will be absolutely professional. But there is no script for Rachel. And Rachel continues to impress her with her brilliant skills and then she really wants to impress Rachel, and she takes Rachel to Bristol instead of Janet, and then Rachel is standing in her garden that night, so vulnerable and beautiful, and then Rachel kisses her and it takes all of her restraint to send her away. 

Really, when she thinks back over the loose chain of events – which she does more frequently than she cares to admit – she isn’t sure at what point she could have stopped it. Whenever she tried, it found a way to come back. Maybe that was what Julie meant, all those years ao, about accepting the facts? 

But Gill, despite having perfected her armor in so many ways, is still harassed by what people think. She knows what people think can ruin careers. And Rachel might be convinced she doesn’t care, but she will, if it costs her the job. She will, if even her impeccable mind no longer convinces colleagues she deserves the position she has. 

Helen Bartlett, the abduction, puts a solid dent in Gill’s principles. Whatever she’s known or not known about her own sexuality throughout her life, she knows she wants Rachel. Even after she tries to rationalize the intensity of it all – puts it down to the events of the day, the dreadful certainty that she would die, the relief and mania of finally being out of the car, she knows. Deep down, there’s a new clarity. Something has shifted and there’s a part of the old Gill that won’t be coming back – for better or worse.   
But despite the night in which she desperately clings to Rachel, raw and vulnerable and full of desire, she isn’t brave enough by the light of day to confess her feelings. 

*** 

When Gill realizes that Rachel is shagging Will Pemberton she wants to break something.   
Of course, after she’s made sure, at no low cost to herself, to not put Rachel’s career into jeopardy - it’s been so hard – the weeks and months of pretending that what happened at Sammy’s engagement party was just displacement behavior, caused by intense trauma –but it was for the best - for both of them, but most importantly to ensure Rachel gets the future she deserves – but of course Rachel doesn’t care - Rachel bloody well goes and does something so entirely stupid. 

She’s livid. When Rachel has the nerve to ask her at the pub, about her placement – having already been tipped off by Pemberton, no doubt – Gill tears into her, enjoying the injured look on Rachel’s face, even as her own guts twist into a painful knot. 

As the words keep spilling out of her, she realizes that she isn’t managing to disguise her own hurt. “If you really don’t care, then, great, brilliant. You’re a better man than I am.” To her ears it sounds exactly as jealous as she feels. Cringing, she takes a decisive sip of her wine, trying to breathe steadily and suddenly feeling very close to tears. 

She can hear Rachel’s intake of breath, and then she slides up closer next to Gill, saying under her breath through clenched teeth – “If you don’t trust in my abilities, you should have insisted on Janet taking the sergeant position. You should know that shagging someone doesn’t make you favor them in any way – quite the contrary. Apparently, it just makes you want to ensure they feel like scum every time you have to interact with them.” Rachel sniffs, then continues. “So really, you should have nothing to worry about. I don’t even know why you bother.”   
She looks at Rachel then. Her eyes are watery, and her face is twisted in an angry grimace. “Need a fag,” Rachel says and is out of the pub before Gill can fully process the words. Fuck.

As if Gill isn’t already dangerously off-balance without having to worry about Rachel - who was never supposed to know about being second choice – which she wasn’t anyways – only that Janet had seniority. But then she stupidly went and blabbed it herself. After drinking gin in the office, no less. Brilliant performance, Murray. Gill knows, that right now she is the last of all people to give Rachel any lectures on professional conduct. But ever since Helen bloody Bartlett she’s prone to doubt her own instincts, second-guessing herself. She hates not being sure. She hates the worried glances Janet is openly sending her way because Janet has never been able to hide her feelings, and the more secret ones everyone else is giving her when they think Gill isn’t looking. The way everyone is on their best behavior, speaking to her just a bit more quietly, as if worried they’ll upset her. Like they’re all just waiting for her to crack. It might really be time to retire. But retirement is equally daunting – more time to sit around and mull over how many other mistakes she’s probably made in her career. 

She decides to flee the scene before Rachel comes back inside. She briefly waves goodbye to Mitch, Lee, and Pete over at the dart and rushes out. Rachel stands on the street outside the pub in the drizzle, smoking a cigarette that looks definitely too much just-lighted to be the first. Gill stops and looks at her, but she’s so angry with Rachel and more angry with herself, she can’t think of anything to say, so she just says “heading home” through clenched teeth. “Ma’am” Rachel answers, sounding so cold and detached to Gill that she can’t believe this is the same woman whose comforting arms around her she has thought about more nights than she’s keen to admit, and she has to pull herself together to not punch the back of the passenger seat of the taxi as the driver pulls off the curb. 

***


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV: 

When Rachel enters Will’s office, part of her already knows it’s over. She just can’t help straining once again for the feeling of assurance his presence offers, and so she’s even willing to promise a kind of commitment that feels decidedly uncomfortable. But when he says “It’s not working for me, Rachel,” she just nods, leaves. What could she say, after all? That it really helps her, having him around so he can distract her from constant thoughts about Gill? 

She goes home, lies in bed, smoking, staring at the ceiling. Thinks about the case, because thinking about work is the only thing that still successfully distracts her. 

When she calls Gill early the next morning to come down to Tornado Fitness and reveals that she’s found the gun, the murder weapon that eluded them for days, stored in a locker there, she’s proud. And the way Gill smiles at her momentarily pushes away all memories of Gill’s angry, disappointed face at the pub, or the stilted politeness at the office that’s made Rachel’s shoulders hurt with tenseness since.   
When they walk out to the car, conversation flows normally again between them for the first time in ages and Rachel feels like she’s floating. Gill unlocks her car, and suddenly she’s talking about retirement again. “I personally think you’ll be fine without me, you’ll know what to do.”

It’s a big compliment, the kind Gill rarely gives - but for once Rachel isn’t smiling – the words “fine without me” echoing hollowly in her mind. Final. Rachel can’t imagine the syndicate without Gill. And she won’t have any reason to see her other than maybe once every other year, at Janet’s or at a Christmas do. The thought makes her feel so empty, back at the office Janet has to repeat everything twice for the rest of the day before Rachel realizes she’s speaking to her. She stares at her computer screen for minutes on end without making progress on her report. 

Letting herself be dragged to the pub by a worried Janet at the end of the day, Rachel downs several glasses of red wine almost grimly. After that, she rallies a bit, talks to Janet, jokes with Lee and Pete – Gill keeps her distance and leaves when they order their last round. 

Rachel doesn’t go home after they all leave the pub. She goes to a bar down the street needing to shut down her thoughts further. The bar is crowded, loud music pounding from the speakers. It doesn’t take long until a good-looking guy approaches her, starts flirting, all smiles and dimples. He’s cute. They don’t talk much – it’s too loud anyhow - order vodka shots instead – dance. Then Rachel leans forward – kisses him, threads her hand into his reddish hair. She observes herself slipping into accustomed patterns, but doesn’t even want to stop herself. She gets him to follow her to the toilets – they make out. The guy puts both hands on Rachel’s arse and grinds against her, grabs her breasts through her blouse. And that does it. She simply pushes him away, leaves him standing, confused, in the stall. She grabs her jacket, exists the bar. When the cold night air hits her, she realizes she’s fairly gone drunk but she also feels the eerie clarity of resolution. 

When she gives the cab driver Gill’s address instead of her own, part of her brain warns her that this bodes nothing but disaster. But then she’s leaving for London soon. Gill’s preparing to put in her notice. What bloody difference does it make? 

It’s only half midnight when she rings Gill’s doorbell. Gill opens the door in a soft jumper, but still in her pencil skirt from work. She looks like she might have dozed off on the couch, a bit drowsy, unfocused. But when she takes in Rachel in front of her door, her entire posture immediately becomes apprehensive. “What’s this then?” she asks, sharply. 

“I need to talk to you.” Rachel is proud of herself for not slurring her words. Well, she is pretty sure she isn’t. 

“How much have you had to drink?” Gill asks, but steps aside so that Rachel can come into the house. 

“Will and I are over,” she says. “Pemberton” she adds.  
“Is this what you came here to tell me?” Gill asks. 

Rachel takes in Gill’s appearance – arms crossed – defensive stance – keeping her distance.   
“Well, you were worried about it,” Rachel says by way of explanation, “and now you don’t have to worry about it.” 

Gill sits down, pinches the bridge of her nose with her fingers “Rachel -”  
Rachel fidgets with her purse, gets out her pack of cigarettes. “Well, you see –“ she says, “he found out that I was a fraud. Sooner or later, all of them do. Mind if I smoke?”

“I would prefer if you didn’t in the house,” Gill says – a pained expression on her face, “but we can go out back.”

Leading the way. And they’re back in the garden, Rachel thinks.   
Rachel lights her cigarette. Holds the package out to Gill, who sighs and takes one as well. She lights Gill’s cigarette, and they just stand smoking for a moment. 

“I don’t,” Rachel picks up the thought where she left off, “blame the blokes for thinking I am a fraud, because I am. And for a while, I thought I could try really hard to convince Will I could be different – but then I thought, no. . . Thing is - the only time – the only time I’ve ever not felt like a fraud was with you.”

The sentence hangs in the air. Gill has gone very still, her cigarette glimming in the dark, her face lighted partially by the light from the living room streaming out the back door. 

“But with you” Rachel continues, “I dunno, I somehow seem to have fucked up in an entirely different way. And you don’t even. . . ” she trails off. 

*** 

“With you, I seem to have fucked up in an entirely different way.”

Gill tries to fathom what is happening. About an hour and a half ago, she left the pub. Successful case, everyone was happy. Gill finally felt like she was gaining back some normality with Rachel. Rachel had cracked the case brilliantly. Now Rachel is standing there, smoking, telling her a propos of nothing that she and Will broke up. And Gill is way too glad about it to even tell herself that it’s for professional reasons, but she’s also at a loss what to make of this volatile situation she now has on her hands. 

“Thing is,” Rachel says, inhaling smoke, blowing it out, looking utterly beautiful with her unruly hair, “I am absolute rubbish at relationships. But I am good at my job. And I keep being good at my job even though I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re so convinced you can keep everything professional and that’s the key. But you not thinking I was rubbish, that was the key for me. That was quite personal, you know?”

“Rachel, you’re not making any sense” Gill huffs out a laugh and it sounds hysterical to her own ears. 

“ I thought” Rachel says, her gaze now trained intensely on Gill “I thought I was going to lose you that day, when Helen . . . . –“ she sucks in air audibly “I thought – “ she is fumbling for words “I . . . you were everything I wanted to be then, but also I realized you were everything I wanted to hold on to. And then, just for a moment you let me. . . but” she points her finger at Gill “now you’re pretending none of this ever happened and . . . if you don’t want me because you think I am not good enough – just be clear about it, because I can deal with it – I’ve been dealing with it my entirely life. . . but don’t go and praise me, don’t give me that look like you’re really proud of me - don’t look at me like that, if you’re only going to retreat behind some pretense professionalism and keep me at a distance, and tell me you’ll retire, and that I’ll be fine without you, because I will not.” 

And just like that Rachel goes from defiant to desolate and it’s more than Gill can stand. With two steps she’s right in front of Rachel and she takes hold of her shoulders, capturing Rachel’s lips with her own. After a split second, Rachel kisses her back, a searing kiss, demanding. Gill feels the ice-cold panic of knowing she’s once again crossing all her carefully set boundaries, but God, how she wants this. 

She kisses Rachel’s neck, her collarbone, her lips, as if her life depends on it. It just might.   
She slides one hand under Rachel’s blouse, feeling the warm skin of her back. The other hand grabs Rachel’s arse, pushing her closer, and one of them makes a whimpering sound. 

Then she holds Rachel at arm’s length again. “I have not, got it sorted out, like you think,” she says, a little breathless. “In all my time at MIT I thought I was making correct decisions. Because I wasn’t making emotional decisions. I was doing things by the book” – a harsh laugh escapes her – “but who knows how many things I buggered up . . . and then Helen. . . – that whole case. . .” it feels like a yawning chasm even now that case. Her mistakes. But it’s unfair to unload this on Rachel, who looks at her so earnestly at the moment, trying to understand what Gill is trying to tell her. 

“I’ve worked my arse off to be where I am, and now, I don’t want anyone suggesting that you didn’t get where you are on your own merit, Rachel, because you did. And you’ll go places – no question – and I’m retiring. Who am I to hang around your neck like a chain?” 

It’s a bit of a non sequitur, but there it is, and now she’s said it, the moment the words are out of her mouth, she realizes that this may be after all what bothers her most about feeling the way she does about Rachel. 

She thinks of Rachel in London, surrounded by capable young men, women, whichever, just waiting to sweep her away, to be swept away by her. Who wouldn’t be?

“What if I think of it” Rachel says, grabbing her hands and looking straight at her “as an anchor. . . not. . . a chain?” 

And after that there are no words for a while, just mouths and hands, desperately communicating need. 

Until Gill’s rational side pulls through once again. She stops Rachel whose hands are inching their way underneath her jumper. Rachel stares at her, lips parted, breathing hard, tangled hair, and Gill realizes she must look about the same. But she swallows her desire and looks at Rachel earnestly. “Look, Rachel. I have. . . just a few things to sort out at the moment.” Gill sounds ridiculous to herself, but she forges on. “I’ve handed in my notice. 30 days. Can you give me that much time? I know. . . I know you’re going to London, but. . . “ she inhales deeply. “You are. . . I want you to go, I do, - It’s a good placement. I just . . . if you’d still wanted to go out with me then, to continue” she gestures “this . . . when there’s no risk of . . . . conflation – I would. . . .” words fail her. She kisses Rachel again, softly this time “please?” she asks, sounding hatefully small and desperate and needy to herself. 

But Rachel’s face lights up, like sunrise. “I’d like that, boss” she says – clearly mocking her, even in her drunk and disheveled state, but so lovingly, that Gill doesn’t even mind.

*** 

The happiness that spreads through Rachel feels so much like anxiety it takes her a moment to realize that she’s smiling from ear to ear. She cannot believe she basically just told Gill in all but the actual words how much she fancies her. And Gill didn’t laugh, didn’t yell at her, didn’t fire her on the spot – but kissed her. And then she asked her out – well – sort of – but still. And Rachel’s heart is beating so fast, she is worried that she might faint. 

And Gill gives her that tiny smile and that look – that intense way of looking at her which always makes Rachel feel like Gill really sees her, and likes what she sees. Rachel savors that look, whenever it appears. But now there’s also something else mixed in with it – a shyness, something hesitant and cautious, like Gill actually expects Rachel to laugh or to take back what she said. 

Rachel looks at her and then very gently kisses the inside of her palm, hoping to convey just how serious she is, how much this is absolutely what she wants, how much she hopes to all powers that exist that this will be one thing she will not fuck up –

Gill looks at Rachel and her facial expression is at once happy and incredulous and overwhelmed. She reaches out to Rachel and draws her closer and they stand in the dark garden just holding each other, breathing, not quite knowing how to put their shaky promise to the future in more specific words.

Rachel feels like a million pounds. Despite her fairly drastic hangover the next morning, she beams at Janet as soon as she enters the office but hasty explanations have to wait until they actually manage a fag break together without anyone else outside – which only happens in the afternoon. Janet first frowns and then beams back at her when Rachel tells her of her late visit to Gill’s house and Gill’s retirement plans.

Then Janet’s smile fades again, and she turns serious.  
Rachel feels dread settle in her stomach when Janet tells her that she has already made the phone call to Dodson about Gill’s drinking. She spends the afternoon nervously biting the skin around her nails, and trying not to flinch every time the phone rings in Gill’s office. She still feels like they’re right to be worried, but she also predicts Gill will not take their meddling well at all. After last nights conversation, she’s sure Gill will only feel doubly betrayed. 

***

When Rachel ends up, once again, in her dark backyard – Gill knows she needs to at least try to hold on to her if she doesn’t want to spend her retirement moping around the house with nothing to do but wonder about missed chances and becoming a serious alcoholic in the process. 

Asking Rachel to wait for her just a little longer, makes Gill feel more vulnerable than she’s felt in a long time, more exposed than when the entire police force seemed to be gossiping about her divorce. But holding on to Rachel in the dark, just feeling her physical warmth and presence, Gill dares to hope that they might anchor each other. 

Something else shifts for Gill after that night. She can’t go back to the department psychologist, and she’s not quite ready to search for a different one, but she knows she needs to do something to work through the lingering presence of Helen Bartlett. 

And if she needed another sign of that, Julie shows up, unannounced, at the syndicate, asking her in a concerned voice how she is feeling. It takes Gill all of five seconds to figure out that Janet must have called her. Worried. Having detectives as friends is definitely a pain. Julie doesn’t broach the subject, though, just invites her out for a bite to eat and a drink, but Gill asks her for a rain check. She can’t take the scrutiny right now, and she knows she won’t be able to lie to Julie. Nor does she want to. She promises Julie to catch up soon, and, with another look of concern, Julie leaves. 

***  



	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V:

Thursday morning Gill calls Rachel into her office. 

“Boss?” Rachel looks at her apprehensively.   
“Do you have any plans this weekend?” Gill asks after Rachel has closed the office door. 

“I. . . no. . .” 

“I know you are off this weekend, but I was wondering. . . ”

“You need me to pick up a shift?” Rachel asks. 

“No” Gill takes a deep breath. She just needs to get this out. “Right, um, I decided to take a trip – to Flamborough Head.” 

“Oh-” the surprise on Rachel’s face turns into a concerned frown. 

Gill forges on before she looses courage. She hates asking for help. “I think . . . I . . . would you come with me?” She sets her jaw and forces herself to look squarely at Rachel, daring her to say it’s a bad idea.

Rachel exhales audibly. Then she nods. “Alright.” is all she says, and Gill feels relieved and self-conscious all at once. But she pulls herself together. “I’ll pick you up at 9 then, Saturday morning.” Gill opens the office door for Rachel to signal that the meeting is over. 

“Yeah, okay.” Rachel says, as she hesitantly leaves the office and returns to her computer. 

Gill shuffles around some files on her desk, sits down – tries to focus on the emails in her inbox. She really wants a drink, but she resolutely shoves that thought aside as the phone rings. 

***

Over the course of Friday, Gill’s nerves are fraying. She knows she is terse and impatient and she can feel everyone trying to become invisible whenever she emerges from her office. Except for Rachel, who continues to give her little encouraging smiles, which annoys Gill, because it makes her feel like a charity case. 

More than once when Rachel walks to the toilets Gill has to fight the impulse to follow her and tell her the whole thing is off – that they won’t be going anywhere. That she’ll deal with it on her own. But she knows that if she backs down now, she will only feel more defeated. 

It’s only a two and a half hour drive. After all, he's been driving again since a few days after the incident. Nothing longer than the distance between the office and the mortuary, however. Rachel will be there. Gill will have another look at the cliffs. She will focus on being alive, on having survived. She will see the spot where Helen died. Pay her respects, in a way. Drive back. Put a lid on it. Get back on track. Maybe even think about seeing a sodding psychologist. Maybe. 

In the evening, Gill doesn’t touch the lasagna she warmed up in the oven. She’s not hungry. She opens a bottle of red instead and turns on the telly, finding some home improvement program –then switches through the channels, restlessly. In her mind’s eye she keeps seeing Rachel, giving her a brief nod, and saying “alright.” She hasn’t given Rachel any further explanation for this choice of confrontational therapy. Rachel hasn’t asked for one either. Gill is glad for that. She knows Janet would have engulfed her with a barrage of worried questions. She’s sure Julie would have plainly disapproved of any such ad hoc measures. Would’ve voiced that approval in no uncertain terms, too. But Rachel? Just said, “alright” – no questions asked. Well, there’ll be the entire drive tomorrow to provide Rachel with explanations. Or sit in excruciating silence. When the bottle is empty Gill finally feels heavy enough to go to sleep. 

***  
Rachel makes a point to have only one glass of wine with her take-away curry and to go to bed at a reasonable hour, even though it is a Friday night. It was painfully obvious how on edge Gill was all day long. She is fairly sure that Gill is feeling humiliated simply for having asked Rachel to accompany her. But still she asked her – not Janet. Not Dodson. But Rachel. 

So Rachel will make sure that she’s alert and not hung-over when she gets in that car tomorrow morning. She’ll put up with Gill being abrasive and haughty – or quiet and determined. Confronting your demons. Rachel was never good at that. She prefers to burn bridges, move on, not look back. She’s not sure it’s a good idea, what Gill is planning. She would like to talk to Janet about it – hear her thoughts – but she knows Gill wouldn’t forgive her for a long time if she did.

Rachel drags herself out of bed at 8 in the morning, takes a hot shower, pulls on her black jeans and a soft grey jumper. Has a coffee and a ciarette standing up in her living room, glancing out the window every so often to see whether Gill’s car is pulling up. 

It does, but not until 9:20, when Rachel is practically pacing the living room phone in hand, seriously contemplating giving Gill a ring on her mobile and even more seriously worried Gill’s changed her mind. When she sees the car, she grabs her purse, keys, and jacket and heads out the door. 

Gill has both hands on the steering wheel, gripping it. She is pale. “Morning,” she says tersely and Rachel buckles up, doesn’t say anything about the delay. 

“There’s a coffee stand by the Costco. I need a brew,” Gill says as she turns the ignition and starts down the road. Glancing sideways at her, Rachel can see the blue shadows under her eyes. She is sure that Gill is well aware how transparent her excuse is to start the journey from the same parking lot where Helen snuck into her car, but she just hums her ascent. “Sounds good to me.” Makes sense after all.   
They get out and stand in line, order their coffees. As they walk back toward the car, Rachel clears her throat.   
“Do you want . . . are you okay, driving?” 

Gill stops in her tracks, looks at Rachel sharply, then her expression grows softer, like she just remembered that after all she has asked Rachel to be part of this. 

“Ya, . . . just need some coffee,” she says. They get in the car. Turn out of the parking lot. Turn onto the M60. Rachel sips her coffee and tries to not glance at Gill too obviously. 

“So Janet’s went to a speed-dating thing” – she says, trying to fill the silence with the first innocuous thing that comes into her head.

“Has she?” 

“Yeah,” Rachel smiles – “but I think from what she’s said that she’s basically been speed-interviewing the poor blokes. They didn’t know what hit’em. She was telling me how their stories weren’t adding up.” 

Gill chuckles with her but it sounds absent-minded. She’s not really listening. Keeps checking the rear-view mirror. Rachel keeps on talking nevertheless, tells Gill about some of her ideas of how to handle budget cuts that are likely to come their way soon, tries to keep the topics fairly banal. As they pass Rochdale she can feel Gill tensing up more and more beside her, gripping the steering wheel – still checking the rear-view mirror constantly, even though there’s hardly any traffic. Rachel risks another straight look at Gill and sees her nostrils flare with rapid breaths. She seems even paler than before. 

Rachel spots a sign for an exits and says, careful to keep her voice level: “I think we should pull off here for just a minute, take a rest” Gill doesn’t seem to hear her. 

“Boss?” 

Gill’s jaw muscles are taut, as if she’s trying keeping her teeth from chattering. 

“Gill!” Rachel says, sharply this time, making Gill flinch – but at least now she’s listening. “Pull off” Rachel says, and Gill does, at the last moment, almost missing the turn. She drives onto a big parking lot at the next junction which is practically empty except for some junk – couches, tires –and tall weeds growing in between pavement cracks. Gill stops the car, scrambles out. Walks away from the car, her hair tousled by the wind. 

Rachel gets out and walks after her. “Gill” she says again – it feels strange using her first name, but if she’s about to have a panic attack Rachel needs to get through to her. Gill stops walking abruptly and Rachel overtakes her. Grabs both of her wrists and sees the agitated look on her face. 

“I don’t want – “ Gill starts trying to free her hands from Rachel’s grasp but Rachel holds on.   
“Just breathe for a moment, okay?” Rachel says – “Take a deep breath – okay – there you go.” 

When Gill looks at her a little more steadily and has stopped hyperventilating, Rachel takes Gill’s hands instead of holding her by the wrists. They are cold and clammy. “Look – I know I can’t know all of what’s happening right now –I can drive the rest of the way – or you can drive, – we can take breaks. As many as we need to. I get that you have to do this, but - just – please stop thinking that you need to prove something to me here, alright?”

Rachel hopes she sounds earnest rather than pitying, unsure how to convey her support without upsetting Gill further - but she keeps going, “You’ve asked me to come with you and I don’t mind. I’m happy to do this. But I don’t want to be a hindrance, because you’re putting on a brave face for me, and it’s adding to the stress.” 

She takes a step towards Gill and carefully puts her arms around her, tucking her to her chest. She can feel Gill trembling with tension. 

They stand there for a minute. Then Rachel ventures, quietly “tell me what I can do to help the situation.” Gill tenses for a moment. Then she sneaks her arms around Rachel’s back and pulls her closer. It surprises Rachel, it’s so unlike Gill – but Rachel understands how much easier it can be to express want physically than with words. 

“How about” Rachel says, rubbing slow circles with her palm on Gill’s back, “How about I get in the backseat behind you? Just so you know that it’s me there, and nobody else.” 

Gill hesitates. Lets go of Rachel and takes a step back. Looks at her, as if appraising her. “That might help.” She says, voice strained. 

Rachel gives her a small smile. “And maybe just crack the window open a little – might be a bit brisk and noisy, but generally gives you a good reminder that there’s air.” 

The start walking back to the car, slowly. Rachel says, “When I was a kid, and sharing a room with our Allison, we’d get into fights in winter every night because I would insist to have the window open – even if it was freezing out. Couldn’t stand the thought of being in an enclosed room.” She shrugs. “Would rather just be uncomfortable than caught.” 

Gill looks at her “Sounds like nothing much changed there, kid” she says, and Rachel grins at her.   
They get back into the car. Rachel climbs onto the back seat, trying to look relaxed rather than awkward. Gill takes a deep breath and starts the car. Opens the window a crack. They drive back onto M62. 

Rachel makes a point of meeting Gill’s eye every time she checks the rear-view mirror.  
I am here. It’s just me. 

When she senses that Gill is a bit calmer now, she leans forward slightly, raises her voice over the flutter of air from the car window.   
“So Mitch says you weren’t joking about actually enjoying karaoke?”

Gill scoffs “Well, not all of us are dead inside, you know.”   
“It’s just . . . horrid” Rachel shudders at the thought.

Gill continues “I used to be quite good – used to drag Julie out to this grubby bar, near the wharf when they had karaoke night once a month – way back when. There were mostly a lot of gay men there. Lovely atmosphere, what with its complete lack of pissed macho coppers thinking they’re funny. Julie’s friend Bill introduced us to the place. It was a good crack every time. Bill and I were word-perfect on our lyrics. Julie stayed away from the singing though,” Gill laughs. “She’s as tone deaf as you are.”

“I’m not tone-deaf” Rachel protests, “I just don’t get the point of purposely making an arse of myself – seeing that I seem to be getting enough changes to do that during my day-job already.” Rachel sighs, “Poor Dodson” she says shaking her head, teasingly. “A choice between drunk macho coppers and karaoke. That’s just bleak.”

“Oh Julie was quite fond of the barkeeper who was on on Saturdays. Fit sort of wiry woman with green hair – flirted shamelessly every time, those two.” Gill doesn’t say more. She’s not divulging secrets here, but Rachel senses that Gill is nevertheless protective of her friend’s privacy, and Dodson is, after all, both of their superior. 

“Does that mean I should brace myself for karaoke at your retirement party then?” Rachel asks.   
“Who says I’m inviting you?” Gill shoots back.   
Rachel tries to suppress a grin as she says, “Well I recall, you saying – distinctly – ‘You can crash my parties anytime, kid’” – 

“Post-traumatic-stress talking” Gill retorts. Rachel gasps and laughs. She loves Gill’s deadpan humor, her ability to say the most outrageous things with a straight face. 

Gill meets Rachel’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “I did say that, didn’t I?” and she looks so fond of Rachel that Rachel finds herself smiling widely. 

They’re past York now and the air rushing in through the open windows turns saltier. Gill seems more relaxed. Rachel still keeps her gaze on the mirror, watching Gill’s face intently. Conversation ebbs again. 

Finally, they can see the coast. 

When Gill stops the car, next to a tall white lighthouse, and turns off the ignition, she just sits there for a moment, doesn’t move. Rachel watches her intently. She has no idea what to expect now that they’re here. It’s eerie seeing the scenery she knows only from the screen in person.

When Gill unbuckles her seat belt, Rachel thinks she can see her fingers trembling. The tension certainly has returned to her jawline. Gill opens her door and steps out. Rachel follows her. 

They walk to the edge of the cliff, jackets and hair whipping around them. Gill turns but seems to be looking at something behind Rachel’s shoulder. Rachel tries hard not to think of how close Gill came to dying at this spot. 

Gill’s hand flies to her mouth as if to keep in the strangled sob that escapes her. She looks pleadingly at Rachel for a second, then turns away from her. Rachel is unsure whether to try to comfort her or give her space. 

Gill stares out at the sea. She stands almost motionless, except for her hand, which is no longer covering her mouth but now rubbing almost absentmindedly at her neck, where the bruises from the belt were visible for a week after the incident. 

Rachel walks up behind Gill who keeps gazing out at the water and very gently puts her hand on Gill’s shoulder, squeezing it. She doesn’t want to spook her, but reassure her – let her know she’s there. 

Gill still touching the phantom bruises at her neck, giving no sign that she is aware of Rachel’s presence, but also not recoiling. Slowly and carefully, Rachel covers Gill’s hand with her own, arresting her movements and then bends down, gently touching her lips to Gill’s neck. She can feel Gill shuddering involuntarily when Rachel’s lips make contact with her skin, but she keeps going. Placing slow, soft kisses along Gill’s neck. 

“I told her I wouldn’t drive off the cliff. That if Sammy asked how I died, it wouldn’t be because I killed myself. She laughed when I said I would help her. If I’d been more understanding – if I hadn’t been so narrow-minded before – if I had listened to Julie . . .” Gill’s words are fairly swallowed up by the wind, but Rachel is close enough to hear her. 

She steps around Gill so they face each other, and pulls her to sit down on a nearby bench. “You do know that there were a lot of factors involved there, in Helen’s story, apart from you?”

“But I was the one who was so sure - who refused to see her as a victim. And I was so wrong. How could I have got it so wrong?” Gill asks, her tone equal parts angry and incredulous. 

“Gill” Rachel says, using her first name for the second time today – “It wasn’t you who fucked up Helen’s life. It was her twisted, shit parents. For years. For her entire childhood. She could count the occasions on which she was happy as a kid on one hand – coming here was one of them. You made a mistake. But you tried to protect her, too. Kevin leaked that information to the press. Not you. And you weren’t even the SIO – Helen only knew you because you were on TV and she wanted to make an example of the police. You’re beating yourself up because you made a mistake. You’re in a position where your mistakes have more consequences than most people’s decisions ever do when they make a bad call, I get that. You’ve told us so many times in the briefings to not take that responsibility lightly. Anyone who’s worked with ya knows you’ve never taken it lightly. I’m not trying to tell you, you just need to get over it, because I’m not daft - thinking that’s how it works. But you have to stop convincing yourself that you’re responsible for the choices Helen made on that day. That’s not on you. It’s possibly not on her either, not really, but it’s not on you.”

By the end of her speech, Rachel is holding Gill firmly by both shoulders, willing her to look at her, to pay attention. Gill’s eyes are watery with tears she’s trying to blink back. She mouths’ almost inaudibly – “Thanks, kid” briefly touching her hand to Rachel’s cheek.

After that, they sit for a while, just looking out at the sea.   
“It’s beautiful here, really,” Rachel says after a while. “Our school, we never went to the seaside. Just had a fieldtrip to the Science & Industry Museum and such.” 

Gill seems to think about this for a while, or maybe she’s just lost in her own thoughts. They continue to sit quietly. After a while Gill sighs. “Well, I guess I did what I came for” – she shrugs her shoulders, like she’s not sure what has been achieved.   
Rachel looks at her. “That’s good, right?”

Gill smiles wearily. “I suppose.” 

Rachel hesitates. The Gill she’s witnessed today is so very different from the poised, sharp, brusque persona she displays at the syndicate. Vulnerable. Out of her depth. But also brave, witty, lovely. Seeing this side of Gill feels like a strange privilege, a fragile thing. It reminds Rachel of holding her in her arms that night after the abduction. The more facets of Gill she sees– tough, smart, funny, insecure, ardent, pensive, - the more she’s drawn in, the more she craves to know her better. So she takes another leap.

“Well, since the day is only half over” she ventures, “– and I think you deserve a bit of a distraction – how about we drive down to North Beach? Have a bit of a walk?” She looks at Gill, wondering if she’s pushing it too much. “Of course, we can also just go back if ya like.” 

“North Beach? Have you been studying the map?” Gill asks, making Rachel squirm a little under her gaze. But then a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, “North Beach sounds lovely.” 

They drive down and find a parking spot near the promenade. Relatively few people are out, despite it being a Saturday. Gill surprises Rachel when she takes off her shoes, rolls up her pants and wriggles her toes in the sand. And then runs down to stand in the surf. Rachel follows suit, grinning. She overtakes Gill, suddenly giddy. “Come on. Let’s go for that walk.”

They stroll all the way to Bridlington, with their feet in the cold waves rolling in. Gill smiles into the breeze, seeming genuinely relieved, freer. Rachel marvels at her, at her resilience. They decide to have a coffee at a place called Cappuccinos. As they sit out on the terrace, Rachel thinks how much she doesn’t want this day to end. 

“What if we stayed here, for a night?” – she blushes a bit, realizing how that’s likely to sound, but she wants to keep Gill a little longer for herself, away from work. “We drove by plenty of B&B’s on the way to the beach. And I could take you out for a drink later. Celebrate a bit. It’s been a big day – in a way.” She cocks her head. Her heart is pounding fast.

Gill laughs. “We didn’t even bring anything - pajamas.” She looks out at the waves. “But it does sound nice.” She admits. “Being away from everything.” Rachel grins. 

They get the car first and then pick a small hotel by sight, not far from the beach. Rachel goes in and books the rooms while Gill is on the phone with Sammy. She asks for separate rooms because she doesn’t want to assume anything, and she wants to show Gill that she does respect her boundaries. 

She’s still can’t help blushing as she hands Gill her keycard. Gill raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, just puts it in her purse. Since they don’t have any luggage to put in the rooms, they decide to inspect the hotel later, and enjoy more time at the beach. 

They sit in the dunes, sheltered from the wind, watching the sea. Rachel feels calmer than she has in ages. They sit close enough that Gill’s knee is touching her own. At some point Gill takes Rachel’s hand, looks at her. “Thank you for coming with me,” she says. 

Rachel ducks her head. She still doesn’t quite know how to handle compliments or gratitude from Gill. She attempts to change the subject and begins carding her fingers through strands of her tangled hair, which has gotten even curlier in the sea air. “Should’ve bound it together” she says, “This is gonna be quite the mess to sort out.”

Gill lightly takes a strand of Rachel’s hair between her fingers, looking at her contemplatively. “I‘ll help you brush it, later.” And before Rachel has the time to consider the implications of that and blush an entirely new shade of crimson, Gill shifts next to her and then Gill’s mouth is on her own and both of her hands are in Rachel’s hair, pulling her closer. 

And somewhere in the back of Rachel’s head, she feels like laughing hysterically, thinking, “I am snogging Gill Murray in the dunes of Bridlington beach.”

***

Looking out at the waves rolling in, Rachel Bailey sitting quietly next to her, Gill feels exhaustion creep up on her after all the tension and adrenaline from earlier.

She knows, rationally, that Rachel is right, that she was not, cannot have been the single cause for Helen Bartlett’s suicide. But knowing it in her mind, logically, and knowing it in her gut are two different things. And then there are the doubts – the suddenly unbearable weight of decisions that need to be made in a minute’s time, and the sight of blood she can’t seem to stand any longer. There’s the drinking to overcome the doubts. The fear of being remembered as a failure. “Had a good run, but then couldn’t handle it.” – that type of thing. Or, worse than that, being pitied. 

But right now, the weight of it all seems a bit less heavy, a bit less meaningful. She is grateful for Rachel’s presence – practical, solid, thoughtful – and frankly gorgeous. 

When Rachel suggests they stay the night, something flutters in Gill’s stomach, which she can’t quite quash even though she sternly reminds herself that she’s 50 not 15. The laughter bubbling out of her as she feels the beach sand under her bare feet and the cold surf sending shivers down her spine, seems to want to convince her otherwise. 

Carefree. She supposes she’ll never be that again. Even before Helen Bartlett, she’s seen too much, professionally and privately, to ever be that again. But this, here, being with Rachel, just for a moment, comes close. 

She turns to Rachel sitting next to her, gazing idly at the water. Her magnificent face, her lips, her hair, her hands. Gill reaches over, taking hold of Rachel’s hand. “Thank you for coming with me” she says, and Rachel’s face immediately turns red and she shifts uncomfortably. It’s adorable – and dead attractive. 

This is gonna be quite the mess to sort out.” Rachel says, clearly trying to change topic, tangling her fingers in her hair and Gill reaches out to touch it. “I‘ll help you brush it later,” she hears herself say, which conjures up a picture of Rachel fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, with wet hair. Suddenly, Gill feels like she’s made of desire. Bugger all she said to Rachel about waiting for her retirement. This whole day has been off-script. She leans over and kisses Rachel, and a second later they’re snogging desperately, hands tangled in each other’s hair, running out of oxygen, and it takes Gill a few moments to realize that the urge to burst into laughter in the middle of it is pure happiness.

***  
Finally they stop, breathless, because it’s stop or tear each other’s clothes off in public. Rachel looks at Gill, lipstick smudged, hair tousled by the sea breeze and gaze slightly unfocused. She has to stand up and brush the sand of her pants just so she doesn’t actually risk an arrest for indecent exposure in public. 

“Should we go get a bite to eat, then?” Rachel asks, holding out her hand to pull Gill up.   
“Yes.” – Gill pulls herself up close to Rachel and kisses her once more, smiling, “I’m starving.”

***  



	6. VI.

Chapter VI: 

They start down the promenade and they don’t have to walk far before they get to a small Italian restaurant with a cozy looking terrace. It’s not crowded and they pick a table in the corner. They order a bottle of red, Gill picks the eggplant lasagna, and Rachel decides on linguine vongole. 

They end up talking about vacations while they wait for the food. Neither one of them has had overly much vacation time, but Gill has gone on some family trips to Cornwall during Sammy’s summer breaks. “And one year,” she remembers, “when Sammy was eleven – no, ten, we went up to Scotland. It was one of the few times I actually managed to get a whole week off of work. We went up to Loch Ness because Sammy had become obsessed with this kids’ book about the monster and he really wanted to go. Swore up and down he’d spotted the tip of its tail on the water, too. Zero forensic evidence, of course” Gill laughs. “I’d almost forgotten about this. We had a little cottage - did a lot of hiking. The weather was something dreadful most days, but I just loved it.”

“See, me, personally” Rachel says, smirking, “I’ll take an evening in a club drinking and dancing, or a spa day in the sauna over a hike in nature pretty much any day.”

“That’s because you’re dead inside” Gill says. Then she gestures around. “So this then – is practically torture to you.”

“Practically,” Rachel says and they both burst out laughing. 

The food is delicious and they sit and talk, finishing their bottle of wine until the sun starts to go down, and the sunset across the water is so much like a romantic movie cliché it actually makes Rachel squirm in her seat and she lights a fag, just to distract herself. She offers the pack to Gill. 

“You know, I quit smoking years ago,” she says, but reaches for it. “You’re a horrible influence. 

“I’ve been told.” Rachel says, leaning forward to light Gill’s cigarette. 

Rachel waves the waiter over and Gill looks almost embarrassed when Rachel settles their bill. “Is this your way of showing pity?” she quips as they get up and slowly stroll in the direction of their hotel. Rachel wonders whether Dave is responsible for Gill's distrust in nice gestures, or whether this has to do with Gill's engrained adherence to what is proper according to hierarchies.

“Sometimes you just gotta let people do nice things for you. You deserve to be spoiled.” Rachel answers, trying to sound suave. 

“Do I?” 

“Yes.” 

Gill takes her hand, intertwines their fingers. There are a few people about – coming back from evening meals, walking their dogs. Nobody so much as gives them a second glance. Rachel isn’t bothered anyhow, but she knows that Gill, though trying to appear to the contrary, actually frequently worries about what others think of her and that this is a deliberate sign of trust. Who knew that simply holding hands could feel so ridiculously perfect?  
  
When they get to the hotel, they decide against another drink at the bar. Their rooms are on the third floor, so they get into the elevator. Rachel swallows, nervous again all of a sudden. She doesn’t want Gill to think that she expects anything more, despite the heated snogging earlier on. Not that she doesn’t very much want to peel all of Gill’s clothes off her, and kiss and touch every inch of her skin. 

Rachel Bailey is falling hard and fast. The elevator bings. 

They reach Gill’s room first. Gill swipes her card, pushes open the door, turns on the light. It’s a small room, but nice and clean, with a tiny balcony and some maritime décor.   
Rachel clears her throat. “Alright, I’ll just . . .” 

Gill turns to her, standing in the door. “I’ve had a lovely evening. I’m a bit shattered from the day to be honest – ” Rachel nods. 

“But I would very much like you to come in” Gill goes on, her voice a little breathy, looking unsure whether Rachel will refuse. 

Rachel smiles wide and steps into the room after Gill, the door falling shut behind them. 

***

Gill is nervous. She’s quite certain that she doesn’t want Rachel to disappear in her separate room, but the last time she’s been with a woman was before she started going out with Dave, and the last time she’s invited someone to her bed who meant that much to her, she was a lot younger, her skin smoother and without pregnancy stretch marks.   
She’s deliberately ignoring the fact that Rachel’s already seen her partially undressed, touched her – that night was a needy fog and she didn’t have enough energy left to focus on what Rachel might think of her body. 

It’s a petty concern – she knows, but Rachel is gorgeous, and her skin is flawless, and it’s no secret that she can attract any number of good-looking partners of various ages – the whole syndicate has had proof of that. 

Gill lets herself sink down on the bed, and she looks at the backs of her hands. Hands are where age shows most, her mother always used to say - veins, lines. Gill scoffs at herself. Rachel sits down next to her. Takes both of Gill’s hands in hers. She says “Anchor. Remember?” as if she’s reading Gill’s mind. And then Rachel tilts her head and kisses Gill softly. She tastes like red wine, and clams, and garlic. 

Gill wants to protest, that Rachel is the one who’s managed to anchor her in reality, who keeps the ghosts at bay, along with the doubts. But then words seem entirely too much effort. She breaks the kiss just long enough to push Rachel's jacket off her shoulders, dropping it besides the bed, then shrugs of her own jacket, dropping it next to Rachel's.

Then she captures Rachel’s mouth again with her lips – they sprawl onto the bed together, their hands traveling over each other’s bodies. Gill, hovering over Rachel who is lying on her back, kisses her way down Rachel’s throat, along Rachel’s collar bone, reaching under her jumper. Rachel draws in her breath sharply when Gill’s hand begins to explore the skin of her belly, then immediately starts to unbutton Gill’s blouse. 

Both of their breathing has become erratic by the time they’re down to their knickers. Rachel’s lips are swollen from their kisses and her eyes are deep and focused entirely on Gill. Gill studies Rachel for a moment, trying to take it all in. She wants to remember this. All of this. There’s something entirely unselfconscious and feral about the look on Rachel’s face that goes right to Gill’s core. “Don’t stop” Rachel breathes, and Gill smiles “Not a chance” as she hooks her fingers on Rachel’s knickers and slowly pulls them down. She is certain that she’s never seen another human being so beautiful. 

She doesn’t in fact know whether Rachel has ever been to bed with another woman, but whether or not she has, Rachel is clearly not worried about it. She takes Gill’s hand and firmly guides her down between her legs. Slick heat meets Gill’s fingers, makes her throb almost painfully, as Rachel groans out an entirely obscene sounding _fuck._

Rachel does not hold back – she seems to thrive on all the wet, slurping, sucking and squelching sounds that Gill always found rather embarrassing about sex. Feeling Rachel come apart in her arms, she no longer does. Neither does she find it in her to feel embarrassed about the rather high-pitched syllables that escape her own mouth – _this_ – _more_ – _yes_ – before incoherent noises replace syllables entirely. 

***

When they catch their breath and lie closely pressed together, sweaty, heavy, sleepy, Gill remembers something. “I said I’d brush your hair.” 

Rachel smiles at her, a lazy, slow smile, running her fingers along Gill’s shoulder blade, “But that would require a shower. And that would require moving. Why on earth would I want to move from here?” And really, who would? Gill thinks, with Rachel soft and warm against her skin.

But Gill’s reasonable side wins over - she laughs, “Because we’re grubby and sweaty and if we want to sleep for more than one hour and not wake up all disgusting and cold – shower will do the trick. Plus, I will brush your hair.” She cocks her head, grins slyly, “provided you have a brush in that handbag of yours.” 

Rachel turns, buries her head in the pillow and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like “Godzilla.” 

“Alright, I’ll go first” Gill says, “but I will wake you if you fall asleep in the meantime”

Gill turns on the taps. She wonders idly whether she should have dragged Rachel in the shower with her, washed her glorious hair. She decides that they’re not that soppy. Shower sex is much more unpractical than romantic anyhow. Although, with Rachel, she just might give it another try sometime, when she’s not in as much need of a steady stream of hot water for her tired muscles.

When she exits the bathroom wrapped in a large white towel, Rachel is actually standing one the balcony, wrapped in the bedsheet, smoking. She turns and smiles when she hears Gill approach. Gill will never get tired of that smile. “Your turn” she says. 

Rachel stubs out the cigarette, steps back inside, closes the door and the curtain. Then she drops the sheet on the bed, standing in front of Gill entirely naked. “Brush is somewhere in there” – she points at the handbag, dropped carelessly on the floor earlier, and walks into the bathroom. 

Ten minutes later, she’s back out, fluffy towel wrapped around her. Gill has reinstated the sheet on the bed and located the brush – which is just a small travel-brush, but it will have to do. Rachel sits down on the bed and Gill begins to first carefully card her fingers through Rachel’s towel-dried hair – disentangling the strands, before she begins to brush the ends and then brush out the hair with slow, even strokes. It’s soothing and sensual. 

***

Rachel shivers slightly as Gill runs the brush though heir hair, and then smooths it down with the palm of her other hand, repeating the motion calmly, over and over. It’s a gesture so caring that Rachel catches herself having to blink back tears. 

Finally, Gill gathers the hair to one side, draping it over Rachel’s right shoulder, and places a soft kiss on the base of her neck. “There” she says, “all done.” 

They climb under the covers and lie facing each other, the room only lighted by the dim glow of the bedside lamp on Gill’s side. Rachel reaches out, runs her fingers lightly along Gill’s cheek. “You know,” she says, voice quiet, barely above a whisper, like she’s remembering something. “I think the world of you. . . and I’m so proud of you.” 

Immediately, Gill’s hand comes up from under the sheet, catches Rachel by the wrist, effectively arresting her movements. “Oi. . . she says,” half smiling and half frowning, “Rachel Bailey, are you taking the piss?” and she looks genuinely unsure for a second. 

And Rachel smiles then turns serious again, “No,” she says “No, I’m not.”  
And she pulls Gill close.   


***


	7. VII.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the final chapter. Thank you all so much for coming along for the ride - it means a lot to me. and thank you CatNamedPants for encouraging me to post this story :)

Chapter VII:

Like so many things, it gets worse before it gets better. The Pritchard case is a royal mess. Janet isn’t allowed to do any interviews as long as she’s under investigation for the car crash leading to Cal Pritchard’s death. Evie Pritchard plays them like a fiddle. Rachel is in over her head. Gill blows up at her over the phone for not risk-assessing the farm properly, for following her instinct. In the middle of it all, the message that her mother died of a massive heart attack - and what devastates Rachel the most is that she feels relief more than anything.

When she finally takes a heart several hours later and tells Gill in the office, she can see the honest concern in Gill’s eyes as she tells Rachel to go – that she’s entitled to compassionate leave. Gill doesn’t hug her, doesn’t touch her, and honestly Rachel is thankful for that in the moment because she's sure she’d crumple under the weight of this mess, if Gill did anything other than what she does – which is shoo her out of the office to go see Allison.

She doesn’t manage to tell Janet until the end of the day, catching up with her in the car park. It’s only when Janet’s face crumples up and she burst into tears in reaction to Rachel’s news and Rachel hugs her, gently cupping Janet’s head as she’s leaning into Rachel’s shoulder, sobbing, that Rachel wishes she could feel more affected by her mom’s death. That she would have had any kind of relationship with her mom that would cause her to weep at the loss.

When Dodson joins the Pritchard case with her syndicate because it keeps getting bigger, things seem to stabilize a little, but not for long. Just when they seem to be making headway Evie’s rant-video makes the rounds dragging them all trough the mud, and – worst of all –accusing Gill of “stinking of booze.” Showing Gill the video and seeing that look on her face, actual fear in her eyes, has to be one of the hardest things Rachel’s ever done. She tries to reassure Gill that Evie won’t make a formal complaint, but of course Janet is right that it’s highly likely. And it’s precisely what follows.

Then Gill is also under investigation, and taken off the case. When Dodson tells Rachel she’ll have to take over as Senior Investigating Officer for the duration, Rachel feels more angrily determined than ever to close this case and nail the Pritchards for human trafficking and murder.

Rachel wants to reach out to Gill, but she doesn’t have the time, and she doesn’t want to make Gill feel more humiliated. She digs down into the case, sure she will help Gill most if she gets results. Also, she’s uncertain where she and Gill stand. The night in Bridlington was – plainly amazing. But Gill isn’t retired yet, so it seems they’re back to being colleagues for now – and truly, Gill doesn’t need Rachel to pile on a dramatic “what happens with us now?” conversation on top of the things already on her plate at the moment.

More than ever, Rachel is glad to have Janet at her side in the investigation. And it’s Janet, who has been relegated to going background, who comes up with the idea of checking Evie’s clothes for traces of blood and gun powder.

Rachel gets the phone call from Mitch with the news that they’ve finally found the second body and the gun in the septic tank at her mother’s funeral, while they’re waiting in front of the crematorium. There is no way to misinterpret Dorothy’s outraged glance when Rachel tells Allison that she and Janet will have to go. She doesn’t care. Her mother is dead, and this is important.

She calls Gill as soon as the final interview with Evie Pritchard is over.

“Rachel?”

“Boss, we’ve found the second body, we’ve found the gun, we’ve got the evidence of Evie’s prints and blood on her clothes. We charged her. Just now,” Rachel says, all in one breath.

“That’s brilliant!” Gill says – and Rachel can hear the triumph in her voice. There is a pause. “But I’m not your boss anymore, Rachel, I am retired, as off ten minutes ago.”

“Wha’? What are you saying?” Rachel asks.

“Pemberton called me in. He offered me more welfare, I said I didn’t want more welfare, I just wanted to retire. And he agreed that we could let the matter drop, if we were to settle for shortening my 30 days notice – to an immediate retirement. Effective now. Just turned in my badge”

Rachel hasn’t the first clue what to say.

“Rachel, this is good news” Gill says on the other end of the line. “It’s a bit. . . much, I know, but it’s good news.”

Rachel nods, then realizes Gill can’t see it, and slowly say “yeah. . . okay, good then.”

“Tell the others, okay? And Rachel?”

“Yeah?”

“When are you leaving for London?”

“Three weeks.”

“Good – okay” She hears Gill take a deep breath. “So then at least that leaves me time to take you out on a date properly before.”

Rachel inhales quietly.

“I know I haven’t - ” Gill continues on the other end of the phone her voice softer now, and she seems to be searching for the right words. “I do want to,” she finally says.

Rachel smiles, “Don’t you have a retirement do to organize?”

“Oh, go on. I hate speeches. We’ll just go down to The Grapes with the crew. Celebrate your first case as SIO. And I’ll be at the back of the crowd, quietly getting pissed.”

***

That is not what happens. It’s a hastily organized party, the day later, but everyone is there, including Scary Mary and Dodson, who’s even brought her wife. Janet does give a speech.

Rachel stands next to Gill, glass of wine in hand, enjoying the boisterous atmosphere. Janet, mic in hand, is teasing Gill about being terrifying even after twenty years of being her friend. Janet gives a sly grin as she says “But I’ve cottoned on to the fact that that’s how she likes it.”

The crowd erupts in laughter. All of a sudden, Rachel notices that Gill is bending over to her, and then Gill whispers in her ear: “I’m so proud of you.”

The sound of Janet’s voice and the crowd fade into the background completely. Rachel forces herself to inhale slowly and steadily. Despite herself, she’s blinking back tears. It’s the second time Gill has said it to her, and there’s no doubt in the world that she means it. And she’ll do anything in her power to hear Gill say it again in the future.

***

End


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